


Senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo

by orphan_account



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: I swear he lives- I just don't know how, Implied Death, near-death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-08-29 03:17:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8473366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: God, he was lucky.Heaven stretched for infinity around him, above and below him. It swallowed his tears as he tumbled through the clouds until he broke through and was greeted by the open arms of Paris.





	

__ S`io credesse che mia risposta fosse  
__ A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,  
__ Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.  
__ Ma perciocchè giammai di questo fondo  
_ Non tornò vivo alcun, s'i'odo il vero,  
_ __ Senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo.

"If I but thought that my response were made  
to one perhaps returning to the world,  
this tongue of flame would cease to flicker.  
But since, up from these depths, no one has yet  
returned alive, if what I hear is true,  
I answer without fear of being shamed."

(Dante's Inferno)

 

\---

 

God, he was lucky.

Heaven stretched for infinity around him, above and below him. It swallowed his tears as he tumbled through the clouds until he broke through and was greeted by the open arms of Paris.

Adrien blinked blindly in the face of a thousand rooftops he had called home, a thousand archways and alleyways he had curled up in for respite, and felt them reach for him. He knew those streets that looked up at him by the undersides of his shoes, knew that brickwork that seemed to stare by the tingling pads of his fingertips. He felt the pull of the city lights as they sang like a choir made from a million voices all clamoring for his adoration.

Everything was so bright.

So bright.

He didn’t want to close his eyes.

From this height, he could see the yellow fog rise from the Sein like a cat to prowl along the alleyways of evenings, to rub its back upon the ancient stonework, to lap at pools of rainwater that lingered in low-lying drains while making eyes at itself in the reflection of dark windows.  As Adrien watched the fog curl about the October leaves and around the ankles of moonlight walkers, he was hit with the realization of how slow and it moved as if it had all the time in the world, and how terribly, terribly quickly he was racing towards the ground. There was no time for all the indecisions and revisions and reversals that raced through his mind. There was no chance to put right all the things that had been ruined. There was no time.

In short, he was afraid.

And yet, he knew he would have changed nothing.

The resolution of that filled his chest, splitting his face in a grin even as he wept. Adrien was not one for talking to gods but he thanked those that might have been listening. There was nothing he would have changed. From the beginning to the end, everything had fallen into place and, even if it had been for only the briefest of moments, he had been happy.  

He let go then, told the universe to do what it would. It seemed as though he fell faster.

Below him, the people walked on. He could spot them now, along the main streets, in the alleyways, hanging from their windows to breathe in the night. He knew them all, in a way, knew them all like all the mornings, the evenings, the afternoons that had rolled in and out of his life too numerous to count. He knew the eyes that would pluck him from the sky. He knew the fingers that would point and pin him, pin him wiggling to the wall. Even when he felt run through with expectation, he had never felt more loved.

How often had they left their windows open, allowing his wandering mind to slink into their space? How often had he defiled their privacy with his ears, his eyes, hiding in the shadows under a windowsill or the crevice of a nearby alley? How often had he had to pry his heart from a moment that was not his, rip his soul from a life that was not his? How often had he listened to the shouts of anger, and the creaking of bedsprings, and the pacings of panic, and the laughing, and the singing, and the crying, and oh- oh- he spent what felt like too short a lifetime watching them silently from a distance with nothing but a desire to _be there_.

Should he have been disgusted with himself? Probably.

But here, the city forgave him. Blinking back tears, he saw what seemed like a hundred upturned faces watching. Adrien fancied that, once he got closer, he would be able to see that they were concerned, and in that small regard, he could pretend they loved him genuinely as much as he loved them in return.

There was no way to change course now even if he wanted to. Down was the way he had started, and down further he would go, even if by this point he could hear them screaming.

In the last moments, Adrien thought of her. He wondered if she had screamed when he took the hit for her, wondered if she had reached out to grab him before the high winds ripped him away, but ultimately, it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter whether or not she loved him- that question would never be answered now- what did matter was that he loved her.

He _loved_ her.

That made it all worth it, after all, after the kicks, the cuts, the bruises, the cover-ups, for in and amongst the towering responsibilities of being a hero, he could really be himself, if only for a little while and if only with her.    

      If he had found the ability to be at least a little brave, at least a little honest and forthright, maybe he could have told her why. He could have spouted poetic prose like the lover he wanted to be about how her precocious nature had bewitched his mind, how her natural bravery had captured his soul, how her kindness had cupped his heart in its hands and made it hers without giving him any choice.

He could have told her that she was loved, even if he was to never receive love in return.

Adrien wasn’t stupid- he was no prince for his lady, nor was he meant to be. He was an attendant lord, one that was happy to serve and advice, one that was differential and simply glad to be of use, but by god he was _hers_ , and even now, he held no regrets in that regard.

It just would have been nice to let her know.

It would have been impossible to say exactly what he meant, but maybe, he thought morbidly, still smiling, still crying, maybe she could read it once the thoughts escaped his brain and spelled it out for her against the concrete.

The screaming from below was getting louder, and it rippled across his skin like skidding fingertips. Goosebumps rose up on his shoulders and he felt the racing wind comb his hair back from his face and kiss his tear-streaked temples.

In the end, Adrien didn’t close his eyes. 

**Author's Note:**

> I swear he does live I just didn’t know how to write it.
> 
> If anyone can send me another poem that I can use, I’ll do it. This one was written while referencing T.S. Eliot’s ‘The Love of J. Alfred Prufrock’ (https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/detail/44212) , one of my favorite poems. I’ve always wanted to write something with that being a keystone, and it seems like I finally have. I was also inspired by this picture (http://r2--d2.tumblr.com/post/152684223889), which I used specifically in reference for Adrien’s arms. The original pose that I used for him came from the Bubbler Episode. 
> 
> Another posting of this on my tumblr with fan art can be found here - https://rabbit-kinder.tumblr.com/post/152750300596/senza-tema-dinfamia-ti-rispondo 
> 
> And, ah, *looks back at work*….sorry ;)


End file.
